


tener

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: BG Bad Sanses poly, Blood and Injury, Dust/Horror - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Phantom Papyrus makes an appearance to his shitty self. as usual, this is just. soft. i have nothing else to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29041524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: The tension in the air could be cut with the dullest, oldest knife in Killer's arsenal.Dust stared straight ahead, pretending the wall was more important than Papyrus laughing in his ear, whispering all the ways he’d fucked up, more important than Horror standing over him, no doubt with that disappointed look he loved to grace Dust with.“Nightmare… is gonna be mad,” Horror said, like Dust didn’t already know, like Papyrus wasn’t saying the same thing next to him, the accusation coming at him in stereo.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 121





	tener

The tension in the air could be cut with the dullest, oldest knife in Killer's arsenal. 

Dust stared straight ahead, pretending the wall was more important than Papyrus laughing in his ear, whispering all the ways he’d fucked up, more important than Horror standing over him, no doubt with that disappointed look he loved to grace Dust with.

“Nightmare… is gonna be mad,” Horror said, like Dust didn’t already know, like Papyrus wasn’t saying the same thing next to him, the accusation coming at him in stereo.

_ ‘Oh yes, your  _ boss _ is going to be furious,’ _ Papyrus drawled, tips of his gloved phalanges ghosting over the cut dissecting his ribcage. Dust yanked backwards with a hiss of pain.  _ ‘Maybe even more than your favorite little fuck toy.’ _

“Take your shirt… your hoodie and shirt off,” Horror commanded, and Dust’s eyelights flicked to him, away from his brother’s self-satisfied smirk.

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast, too high. Too choked.

_ ‘You’re so pathetic, brother.’ _

The next hand landed on his shoulder, this time Horror’s, and it started pushing his hoodie off. “We need to clean… the wound.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“...doesn’t matter.” Horror was stronger than him, when it came to physical strength, and moving was painful in the first place, so it wasn’t really a fight to get it off, the bloodied fabric left to stain the sheets behind him.

Immediately, he felt too exposed. His breathing quickened, ribcage rising and falling frantically, which only added more spikes of pain. Horror’s claws gripped the hem of his tattered shirt and pulled it up and off of him.

Dust didn’t realize he’d been skirting the edge of a panic attack until Horror draped the hood back over his head, the weight of the garment over his back, and cradled him to his side. He was saying something, his voice nothing but a deep rumble, and Dust tried to control his breathing. It took embarrassingly long, but Horror didn’t comment on it, instead still mumbling to him.

“—it’s okay, lambchop… it’ll pass,” was what Dust could parse first. His SOUL gave a sharp pang, suddenly filled to the brim with something he couldn’t quite place.

"I'm fine," he said, after a cough made him clear his non-existent throat.

Horror pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his skull, through the hood. When he moved to get up, Dust's hand grabbed his sleeve on its own, to keep him from leaving. He didn't need to say anything to have him leaning down again, this time to give a proper kiss.

"I'm gonna clean… it. Your wound," Horror told him, so Dust nodded, his fingers reluctantly letting go to allow the bigger skeleton to get up and grab the first aid kit.

He settled down on the floor, kneeling between Dust's spread legs. His traitorous brother was gone for the moment, and no jab came at the position. Horror lathered a washcloth with the antiseptic and looked up.

"This might… sting."

Dust swallowed around nothing. "Horror," he muttered, sure his face must've been contorted into some sort of a grimace, "we've done this before."

Horror nodded, but still laid the cloth over the wound gently as he could. It did sting, catching on the cracks, but the washcloth came away bloody and his ribs ended less so.

"You need to be more careful," Horror told him, like a mother hen, and it made guilt well in Dust's ribcage. "If you… if you got hurt worse, or… or dusted…"

Dust thought he'd held up pretty well, considering he'd been alone, and against all three of the Stars.

"Do the others know?" Dust asked, to sever that train of thought. There was no point in making Horror go through the  _ what ifs _ . He wasn't soulless.

"No... Not yet."

Horror was spreading the healing gel over the bone by now, making Dust shiver. It was always cold, no matter where they stored it.

"Don't tell them," Dust asked, as much for his own selfishness as the others'.

"Nightmare'll… he'll know."

"I don't want him to get pissed," Dust admitted. He didn't want to be lectured, or kept in the castle, or, worse, pitied.

"He… gets pissed because he cares… about you," Horror said, slowly and methodically wrapping gauze over the sensitive ribs. Dust only jerked occasionally. "About all of us."

Dust squeezed his eyesockets closed. Horror's fingers were maneuvering around the small bones that made up his chest. Surely it would've been easier for Dust to do it himself, but from own experience, he knew even suggesting that would have Horror upset. Horror's hand could probably reach from one end of his ribcage to the other. The thought was comforting, as much as it should've been worrying.

"I know," he conceded eventually, when Horror's hands left him, "But don't tell them. Please."

Horror rose up from the floor and instead pulled a shirt from somewhere Dust couldn't see. His hood was pushed off for just a moment, the shirt pulled on, and then Horror replaced the hood the way it had been. The white shirt was too big on him, leaving half his collarbone exposed, but it smelled like the chamomile detergent and like  _ Horror _ , and Dust didn't mind.

He pulled Dust forward, hugging him as tight as he dared. Dust clung to him, phalanges shaking where they bunched the faded fabric of Horror's hoodie.

"I won't, Dusty," he muttered, leaving another kiss on Dust's skull.

There was no way Nightmare wouldn't have felt the pain and panic he'd oozed, but the words still made him feel better. If Dust explained, maybe Nightmare wouldn't tear him a new one for not retreating sooner, for 'putting himself in danger needlessly.'

But that was later. Now, Horror was here, and Dust didn't want to move. 

"Stay," he breathed out into the crook of his neck, and Horror held him tighter. Neither of them acknowledged just how much that single word had sounded like begging.

"...anything for you… little lambchop."

It wasn't fair, that Horror could call him a piece of meat and it would make him happy instead of offended.

_ 'You're disgusting  _ as well _ as pathetic, brother.' _

But not even Papyrus could ruin that.

**Author's Note:**

> you can talk to me on [tumblr](https://armethaumaturgy.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/esqers)  
> 


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